I started crying, too. Sebastian put his arms around us both and assured us that everything would be okay.
I sat on the bed and held Eden like she was my child. Sebastian made an ice pack for her eye. She cried like a baby, and I rocked and consoled her for over an hour.
“We should call the police,” Sebastian said, but Eden went ballistic.
“I won’t let you report this.”
“Let’s take her back to your room, then,” he suggested. She didn’t want to do that, either, but he convinced her she would be safer there.
After she took a quick shower and packed an overnight bag, Sebastian and I walked her to the limo.
When we got to the bed-and-breakfast, Sebastian told the front-desk clerk that under no circumstances was he to give out my room number to anyone. He then escorted Eden and me to my room and called room service, asking for extra ice.
After a quick meal together, Sebastian went to his room. Eden and I shared my king-sized bed. As we lay there in the dark, I asked her to tell me what had happened.
“The minute we got back to the hotel room,” she said between sobs, “Dion came at me for sex. When I didn’t respond with as much passion as he thought I should, he attacked me. My own husband tried to rape me. I started screaming, and someone from hotel security came and knocked on the door. That made Dion even madder. After he told the security guard that everything was fine, he grabbed my arm hard and slapped me in the face.”
“Oh, Eden,” I said, my heart grieving.
“When he realized what he’d done to me, he stalked out of the room. That’s when I called you.”
I was so angry at Dion, I felt like using some of my law-enforcement training to teach him a lesson. I wished she had at least let Sebastian call the cops.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she whimpered. “You know, when we first got into Denver, we went hiking, and the guide showed us where the bears go to hibernate.” Eden sat up and blew her nose. “I wish I could find a place where I could go and just be alone in the dark. I don’t feel like I can ever face the world again.”
I wanted so badly to help my girlfriend, to take her pain away. She really sounded so confused, and at the end of her rope. I could only think of one person who could help. I took her hands in mine and told her that we were going to pray. She was shocked, but she bowed her head as I began speaking to God.
I said, “Lord, I know I’m not where I need to be in my personal relationship with You, but that’s another issue altogether. My friend Eden and her husband Dion need Your help. Lord, we know that marriage takes a lot of work and compromise. Eden is willing to put forth the effort, but Dion is not. Lord, he needs to be saved. We ask that You save him so that they may be able to solve their problems. Lord, please guide them through the trials and tribulations of their relationship. Please give my friend the courage to get through this.”
After we finished the prayer, Eden smiled at me and looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t suppose you know of a good cave.”
Chapter 9
Stone
After the trip to the ski resort, my life became drab and boring. The physical therapy for my leg was so regimented, I couldn’t feel any excitement. Eden had stayed with me overnight in the bed-and-breakfast, crying most of the night. But the next morning Dion called her, and within hours they were back together, despite my objections.
Since I hadn’t heard from her in two months, I decided to call to see how she was doing.
“I’m fine,” she said brusquely.
“How’s Dion?” I pressed.
“He’s fine, too,” she insisted all too quickly. I knew her well enough to know she didn’t want me to continue the conversation, but I couldn’t keep silent.
“How can you be doing fine with a man who abuses you?”
“Look,” she said, “you’re my best friend and I love you, but don’t go there.”
“Oh, so it’s like that, is it?” I said, fuming. “I can’t be concerned about my girlfriend anymore?”
She hesitated, then apologized, her voice a little softer. “He broke down and cried, Chris. And he promised never to lay his hands on me again.”
“And you believe him?” I ranted. “All woman-beaters apologize and promise they’ll never do it again, but they end up repeating their sick behavior. If you let him get away with it once, it’ll never stop.”
“Christian,” she said, “Dion loves me and I accepted his apology. If we can get over this and move on, why can’t you?”
“Because I think you need to leave him,” I said bluntly.
“You don’t understand,” she said angrily, “because you don’t have a husband. I’m married, Christian, and I plan to stay with my husband forever. If you can’t accept that, then maybe we need to end this friendship.”
I couldn’t believe she’d said that. “Eden, I think we should give each other some time to cool off. We can talk more about this later, okay?”
She agreed and we ended the call. I prayed God would guide both Eden and me through this conflict.
Throughout the month of March, I accompanied Reverend Stokes and his campaign team through the northern states. Sebastian was busy with his own campaign in Georgia, so we didn’t get to see each other at all, but we made it a point to call each other every Sunday and Wednesday.
Troy Evans called several times, trying to get me to go out with him again. I repeatedly declined his invitations, telling him I was in a relationship and was committed to it.
I thought Mrs. Stokes might warm up to me a little after her husband told her that Sebastian and I meant something special to each other, but she still basically ignored me. Sebastian said he figured she probably thought if she didn’t make too big a deal of it, we’d end it on our own. I was determined to prove her wrong.
My first assignment after my injury was a campaign dinner in Detroit hosted by a Michigan senator who wanted to help raise money for Reverend Stokes’s campaign. Security was tight since—whoever had planted that bomb was still at large.
Instead of our usual dark suits, the security agents were allowed to dress like the other guests for anonymity. I wore the black sleeveless dress Sebastian had purchased for me, my gun safely hidden on my thigh holster.
As I stood at my post near the entrance, I fought against flashbacks of the bomb blast. I felt uncontrollably anxious, constantly keeping my eye on the exit doors. When Agent Hold came up to me from behind, I almost passed out.
“Are you okay?” he asked, leading me to a chair in the corner of the foyer.
“I thought I was,” I told him, holding my head in my hands.
He got on the headset and asked for water. Before I could catch my breath, Agents Ron Pitts and Kelly Regunfuss were handing me bottled water.
Taking a bottle from Kelly, I said, “I’m fine. Just having memories about the explosion, that’s all.”
“If you’re not ready for this,” Kelly said softly, “just say the word and we’ll cover you.”
“Yeah,” Ron added. “If you need more time, I’m sure Moss will understand.”
“No, really,” I argued, standing. “I’m fine. But thanks, guys.”
I resumed my post by the entrance door, feeling a lot better, knowing I had the support of my colleagues.
An uneventful hour later, Sebastian’s mother strolled up to me. “I do hope that when you’re out with my son in public you don’t slouch as you’re doing now.” She stood tall and regal, demonstrating the posture she had in mind.
I felt like wrapping my hands around her bejeweled neck. But I didn’t want to jeopardize my job, so I straightened up.
“That’s better,” she said. “Always stand like a lady, with your head up and shoulders back. Poise and class should show in your stance, my dear, especially when you’re wearing an evening gown.”
I stifled my anger at her bossy attitude and just stared straight ahead.
“Of course,” she added, “it takes more than
posture to be a real lady.”
She strolled away to mingle with the guests, leaving me standing there with my mouth open. I wanted to call Sebastian that instant and tell him all about it, but I was on duty. Besides, there was no point in making him mad at his mom. So I gritted my teeth, did my job, and prayed that Mrs. Stokes’s attitude toward me would change.
The next night we were in New York for another formal fund-raiser. I wore the same black gown, thankful the hotel had a one-hour cleaner. The event was even more crowded than the one in Detroit.
When Kelly told me it was my turn to take a break, I sighed in relief. I’d been standing quite a while and my leg was bothering me a little.
I checked my cell phone in the ladies’ room, hoping Sebastian had called. I had a message, but it was from Max. I decided to ignore it.
Before I could put my phone away, it vibrated in my hand. I answered and heard Max’s cheery voice.
“I’m going to change my number,” I threatened in a whisper as I walked to a quiet corner.
“Then why haven’t you? You must like me callin’ you.”
“Don’t get so full of yourself. I just haven’t had the time. I’ve been busy.”
“You don’t say.”
When I heard footsteps enter the bathroom, I said, “I’ve got to go, Max. I’m working.”
“Okay,” he said, “but I’ll call you tomorrow. I really need to talk to you.”
Just to get him off the phone, I promised I’d call him the next day.
The following afternoon I was lying in my hotel bed, reading a novel, when my cell phone rang. It was Max.
“I have to see you before you leave New York,” he insisted.
“Max,” I said, “I’m not going to go out with you.”
“I’m not asking for a date,” he claimed. “Just let me take you to dinner.”
“No,” I responded, setting my page-turner on the nightstand.
“Please,” he begged. “I’ve got some things I really need to talk to you about.”
“Oh, really?” I said. “Like what?”
“I have some information about Eden that I think you need to know.”
All of a sudden he had my attention. I repeatedly begged Max to tell me what he knew, but he refused to discuss it over the phone.
“All right,” I finally said. “But this is not a date, so don’t try to impress me, all right?”
“I understand,” he said.
That night, I surveyed the few outfits I’d packed to determine which one would be most suitable for a friendship dinner with Max. I considered wearing blue jeans and a tee shirt, just to reinforce the message that this was not a date. But Max had made reservations at an upscale restaurant called Finesse. I chose a coral-colored, spaghetti-strap dress that ended below the knee and wrapped a silk scarf around my shoulders. The scarf, I decided, would be good for modesty as well as warmth, in case the air became too cool or Max got too hot.
After the cab dropped me off in front of Finesse, I gave the maître d’ my name and he led me to a corner table, where Max was all decked out in Bill Blass.
“Dang,” he said approvingly as he stood to help me into my seat. I gave him my don’t go there look and he quickly sat down.
The maître d’, promising that our waiter would be there momentarily, gave us menus. After he left, Max said, “You look really nice tonight.”
“Cut the chitchat,” I said abruptly. “You said you had something to tell me about Eden.”
“I do,” he said. “You see, she and I had a long talk recently, and she explained everything to me.”
“What did she explain?” I asked. I hadn’t talked to her in a month, so my curiosity was definitely piqued.
A young black waiter came to take our orders. Max told him we weren’t ready yet.
Max looked into my eyes. “Eden helped me understand how much damage I did to you for not forgiving you for the abortion back in college.”
The pain of that terrible time in my life made me ache, but I managed to conceal it from him. “Come on, Max. That’s been over for years. Let it go.”
“I should have been there for you,” he said. He took a plain white envelope out of his breast pocket and handed it to me. “Here, I want you to take this.”
“What is it?” I asked, looking at the envelope in my hands.
“You should not have had to pay for the procedure. I heard you had to get a job and all to pay back money you borrowed.”
Max placed his hand on mine and I looked up. Our eyes met, sending me back to the day I ended our child’s life. I vividly recalled wearing the white robe, lying on that cold table with my feet in the stirrups, screaming and crying on the inside but refusing to utter a single sound.
The grief I’d kept bottled up for years suddenly exploded. I pulled my hand out from under his and fled to the bathroom, not caring that everyone in the restaurant was staring.
When I burst through the ladies’ room door, I felt relieved to find it was empty. I went into a stall and cried until I couldn’t cry any more. All of the pain and regret that I’d felt during and after the abortion came out in a flood.
Eventually, I left the stall and stood in front of the mirror. My eyes were puffy, my makeup ruined, and my hair a mess.
I looked at the envelope still scrunched in my fist. Curious, I opened the unsealed flap. Inside I saw five one-hundred-dollar bills.
I stared at the money, knowing I couldn’t accept it. After fixing my hair and makeup the best I could, I returned to our table. Two glasses of burgundy were sitting near our place settings.
I tossed the crinkled envelope onto the table between our plates. “I don’t want your money,” I said calmly.
“But I want you to have it,” he insisted, pushing it to my side of the table.
“The abortion cost three-fifty, not five hundred.”
“I know. Eden told me. Consider the extra as interest for all the pain and suffering you went through.”
Did he really think that $150 could compensate for killing a baby? “And what am I supposed to do with this money now?” I snapped at him.
“You could go buy yourself a beautiful dress like the one you’re wearing now.” He grinned at me. I could tell he was really trying to do the right thing, even though it was totally inappropriate.
When I saw that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, I shook my head and put the envelope in my purse. What harm could it do? He wanted to repay me. Fine! We ordered our food, made small talk about our jobs, and when the food came, we ate in silence.
During dessert, Max said, “Chris, I need your help.”
“I knew this was leading up to something.”
“I want to get into politics.”
I nearly choked on my caramel cheesecake. “You want to run for office?”
“No,” he said. “I just want to be a political player. Just so I can expand my business.”
“How do you plan on doing that?” I asked, amused.
“I’d like to start by donating money to Stokes’s campaign. The polls show he’s climbing in popularity, and I believe he stands a strong chance of getting the Democratic nomination. Maybe it’s time for a black president, after all. And if that happens, I want the most powerful brother in the country to know me by name.”
“And how do you think I can help?”
“I was hoping you could get me an invitation to one of those political events you’re always going to and maybe introduce me to Stokes personally.”
I gave him a stern look. “I don’t get involved with his business. I mean, it’s not like we’re friends.”
“Yeah, right,” he said, curling his lip. “You’re just screwing around with his son.”
“How dare you make a comment like that!”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to imply anything bad.”
“Well, you did! Can’t you show a little class? Don’t go talking down about people when they haven’t done anything to
you, especially when they’re not even here to defend themselves.” I stood and tossed my napkin onto my plate. “I am not going to hook you up with Reverend Stokes,” I said. Then I stormed out of the restaurant.
Agent Hold and I stood guard outside the hotel conference room. On the other side of the open mahogany door, I could hear several political figures arguing with Reverend Stokes. The only reason I knew who they were was because we were given their names, clearances, and political affiliations in the briefing before the gathering.
“I told you,” Stokes said in a voice seething with anger, “I am not on board with that.”
Georgia’s governor Mike James and Governor Thomas Birks from New York debated for a few minutes. Stokes’s campaign manager, Jack Applebee, argued with the staff people representing the governors.
I glanced at Agent Hold and shook my head. “Can you believe they’re fussing like this?”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “They might as well not be talking at all ’cause nobody’s hearing a word anyone else says.”
“Next thing you know,” Agent Pitts joked through our headset, “we’ll have to protect them from each other.”
Ryan and I laughed. Suddenly, another politician came down the hall. We immediately went back to our stiff professional positions.
More bits and pieces of heated conversation filtered out from the other side of the door.
“Look, Steven,” Governor James said in his distinctive southern drawl, “I told a lot of my supporters that you were going to help get casinos legalized. Why do you think you’re so far ahead in the polls?”
“I’m ahead in the polls,” Stokes yelled, “because the people believe in me and my stance on the issues.”
“If you’re telling me you won’t endorse gambling after you’re in office,” Governor Birks said, “we’ve got serious problems.”
“That’s for sure,” Governor James added. “For one thing, you can forget about that two hundred thousand dollars you were expecting me to raise to help you get ready for the Democratic convention.”